Crossover
by azec sistra
Summary: With Lucifer on the brink of being released, the power players of the supernatural war have allied themselves with either Heaven or Hell. One in particular, a young wizard, has chosen to aid the Winchester brothers. A Supernatural/Dresden Files crossover.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own any parts of Supernatural or the Dresden Files. This is simply a crossover that borrows heavily from both, albeit with fan based elements.

* * *

Angels are real. Hard to believe, I know, but they are very real. Unlike the Demon Princes and the Fallen, they prefer not to directly involve themselves in mortal affairs, preferring instead to lend something of a guiding hand and indirectly aiding humans to discover their own innate potential.

But vital balances have been upset. Special circumstances are happening. And the most powerful and, needless to say, most dangerous warriors of heaven, who have hardly set a foot on this planet in two thousand years, have gathered to deal with this.

Typical that I find myself in the middle of this supernatural war.

My name is William Michael John Phoenix Dresden, a full-fledged wizard of the White Council, the governing body of the wizard community in the world. But you can just call me Billy.


	2. Denarian vs Angel

Denarian vs. Angel

Disclaimer: I don't own any parts of Supernatural or the Dresden Files. This is simply a crossover that borrows heavily from both, albeit with fan based elements.

* * *

Sam Winchester. Tall and broad shouldered with brown hair and dark, brooding eyes. Normal by any standards really. Only he wasn't. He, like his father and mother before him and like his brother now, was a Hunter, a mortal warrior who attempted to keep the world safe from supernatural threats, including demon, vampires, and sorcerers among others. But more importantly, coursing through his veins was demon blood, and, with it, demonic powers.

Before he'd discovered the nature of his powers, Sam had been confused about his abilities. Perhaps even feared or hated them. But that had changed in the last four months. While his brother was trapped in hell, he'd grown in the use of his powers, and had come to enjoy using them to a certain extent. He was, after all, using them to exorcise demons and send them back to Hell without harm to the human hosts.

Why then was he tossing and turning? Why couldn't he sleep even though his mind told him to rest? He lay there on his bed, pondering while staring at the sleeping form of his brother. Those were rhetorical questions really, considering it had just been days ago when Dean discovered that his little brother had been lying about using and honing his demonic powers, with Ruby, a demon of ambiguous morals, no less, in the four months that had passed.

And though Sam had apologized for it and Dean was trying to be more accepting of Sam's reasoning and more understanding of the current circumstances, a wedge had been driven between them.

But Sam had to wonder, was it truly wrong for him to embrace his demonic abilities if he was using them to help others? Then again, he'd seen what had happened to a perfectly good man who'd given in to his demonic heritage and turned into a flesh eating monster in an attempt to safe his wife.

Dean, on the other hand, wasn't experiencing the same kind of troubles Sam was. No, his troubles weren't demonic. Rather, they were divine.

* * *

He stood in Bobby's kitchen in his usual attire, boots, loose jeans, and a black short sleeve tee with a light olive colored over shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Immediately, he knew he was in limbo or some kind of personal dream world as he'd been quite often many nights of late.

Dean walked over to the kitchen sink, turned, and casually leaned backed. He turned his head to face a figure that had suddenly appeared. A man, just shy of Dean's height, dressed in typical business clothes, a dark grey suit, a white dress shirt with a loosened blue tie, and a beige trench coat, which was riddled with what looked like bullet holes, stood there, staring at Dean with inhuman blue eyes devoid of any recognizable emotions.

Castiel was an angel, a real honest-to-goodness warrior angel, complete with wings and divine powers. He'd been the one to drag Dean's soul out of Hell, leaving only a set of burned handprints on Dean's shoulders as a reminder of what he'd done. Now, he was a sort of guide to the Winchester brothers, using this rather annoying mechanism to communicate with them.

"This is getting old," Dean said.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," the angel replied. "But I have my orders. I can't reveal myself to your brother yet."

Dean arched a brow and folded his arms, irritated curiosity flashing in his eyes.

But Castiel's eyes remained flat and his expression neutral, so much so that a statue would have had a greater emotional range, but he tilted his head questioningly, prompting Dean to continue.

The elder Winchester, though, didn't continue right away. He actually thought about what he was going to say. Surprising, I know. Castiel may have been an angel, but that didn't mean that he couldn't feel insulted. And let's say that Dean wasn't exactly in his savior's best graces, especially after he'd previously wounded Castiel's pride through his arrogant ignorance of the loss of the angel's comrades and by seemingly being ungrateful for being saved from Hell.

"Why?" Dean asked simply.

Castiel looked straight ahead. "I don't know any more than you do," the angel answered. "That knowledge isn't mine."

Dean looked straight ahead too. While he wasn't happy with the answer he'd been given, he would have to be satisfied with it. Angels couldn't lie after all. But more than that, Castiel had given him a straight up answer rather than the usual cryptic word games.

"Uh…" Dean murmured as uncomfortable tension built itself in the silence of the moment. "Onto business then," he said. "What do I have to do this time?"

"Nothing," was the reply.

"Nothing?" Dean asked, confused and surprised. For him to have to do nothing. Now that was a first. "Okay…" he continued. "Then why the whole entire dream thing?"

"No," the angel began. "It's not that there is nothing for you to do. It's that you have to do nothing." Castiel turned to face Dean, who merely blinked and stared at his speaker as if his IQ had just dropped about ten points. "Lilith has allied herself with…" he tried to elaborate on what he meant, but he got cut off.

The place began to shake slightly. Everything in the whole entire damn place, from big to small, solid to intangible, glass and air, even the tiny drops of water from the leaky faucet, began to vibrate with a quiet but dangerous power.

Castiel's head jerked up, eyes wide and gleaming with surprise and a dangerous anger. Darkness had begun to creep in from every crack and opening in the place. The angel raised his hand, index and middle fingers pointed outwards, causing the darkness to stop momentarily.

"Listen to me, Dean," he practically growled, struggling to keep the darkness at bay. "You, your brother, and Bobby need to stay inside the house. Don't step a foot outside of it. Don't even open the door. Not until I get back to you. Understood?"

Before Dean could answer though, the darkness had pushed through whatever defenses Castiel had created and enveloped the whole entire place.

He jerked awake, and pulling out Ruby's demon killing knife, Dean turned to face Sam, who by that time had quickly pulled back, hands open and raised in submission. He was breathing heavily and drenched in cold sweat. Dean quickly looked around before lowering the knife.

"Dean? You okay?" Sam asked. But when his brother didn't answer, the younger Winchester called out a bit more forcefully.

"You don't have to shout. I can hear you, Sammy," Dean said. "What happened?"

"I don't know. You tell me." And Sam told his brother what he saw. "You were shaking violently and...and you're bleeding."

Dean suddenly felt a sharp burning sensation in his hands. He looked down and saw small droplets of blood. He'd been gripping the sheets of his sleeping mat pretty tightly. So tightly, in fact, that his nails had punched through the sheets and pierced the skin in the palm of his hand. Same thing with the hand that'd been holding the knife.

* * *

"What do you think could've defeated Castiel?" Bobby finally put out the question on the table.

Bobby Singer was a fellow Hunter, friend, and, after the Winchester siblings' father had left on his quest for revenge, a frequent father figure to the two boys. He was a kind man with a good heart to compliment his full figure, grayed locks, and full blown beard, but the Hunting had somewhat hardened him over the years. And his usual calm demeanor was now overshadowed with worry.

It was just several minutes to seven the next morning, and both Winchesters and Bobby had gathered in the living room to discuss what happened.

"I don't know Bobby. I just don't know," Dean murmured. He was sitting on the couch, leaning forward to place his forehead against his hands and mindlessly staring at the tiles on the floor, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"Do you think it was Lilith?" Bobby looked at Dean.

"No." Dean and Bobby looked at Sam, visibly frowning. "I mean it couldn't have been her. If she had that kind of power, she'd have done it a long time ago. Hell, if she was that powerful, she wouldn't have so much trouble breaking the sixty six seals. Plus Castiel said she teamed up with someone. Or something," Sam reasoned.

Dean's eyebrows shot up as he idly waved at nothing and sarcastically said, "Great! We just have Lilith _and_ some other demonic bitch to deal with."

Bobby sighed and bobbed his head slightly. "Well, at any rate, we're gonna need some major protection. Best if we head for the panic room until Castiel gets back to us…uh…well Dean anyways."

The trio got up gathered up additional things they thought they might need, which wasn't really necessary since Bobby's panic room was protected against all sorts of things imaginable. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

But something bothered Dean. What had started as a dulled headache had grown into a positively head splitting migraine while they were headed for the door. And suddenly, he remembered something. Something that he shouldn't have forgotten but somehow had. Something that could cost them their lives.

"Bobby! No!" Dean screamed. Too late, though. Bobby had already reached for the knob and opened the door.

Whatever they'd been protected from while the door was closed could sure as hell act freely now even if the door had only been opened a few centimeters. An intangible force pulled the door off its hinges, and with it, the trio across the ground in front of the house for a good ten meters or so.

Once the dust had settled, they tried to get up, but something held them down. Dean looked up to find a girl standing not a foot away from him. She was tall, close to six feet, and that was in flat boots, and had flowing, shoulder length black hair. The girl wore a loose fitting tank top, a pair of tight fitting jeans that'd been cut off so short they could've passed for lingerie, and fishnet tights. But her most striking features were her eyes, eyes that were unfocused, glazed over gray and pupiless. And hovering slightly above her eyes were another set of eyes and a sigil of some kind, both fluorescent green and, for a lack of better term, creepy.

"Who are you?" Dean asked. Well, it was more a demand than anything.

The girl chuckled and said, "The demonic bitch you have to deal with."

"I kinda figured," Dean spat. "What I meant is what the fuck are you? Some kind of de…"

He didn't even get a chance to finish when, in sudden blur of motions, the girl had violently griped Dean's throat and lifted him up to meet her gaze. "You dare compare me to a demon," she hissed. "To those disgusting maggots?" she demanded, tightening her grip, enjoying the sight of her victim having the life squeezed out of him.

Why the hell was she so offended? She was a demon wasn't she? But Dean wasn't really concerned with those issues right then. He clawed uselessly at her fingers, trying to pry them loose. But his efforts slowed down. He began to feel dizzy as every breath became more and more of a struggle.

"Dean!" Bobby yelled out. While she was concentrating on Dean, somehow Bobby had managed to snatch Ruby's knife from Dean's grasp and plunged it into the girl's leg.

That hadn't so much as irritated her. The green set of eyes looked down, and out of nowhere, snakes sprang forth and began to bite away at Bobby and Sammy.

She relished in their screams, savored their pain and anguish, sighing placidly. That pleasure was short lived, however, as she hurriedly jumped back, letting Dean's limp form go, which coughed and gasped for air as it hit the ground. The snakes she'd conjured had been burned away, and looking down at her hands, she noticed that her fingers had been burned as well, the tip of her nails blackened and still partially sizzling.

* * *

"I thought I told you not to open the door." Castiel stood about three feet behind the Hunters, facing the girl, his expression stoic as usual, but his breathing was heavier. Labored somewhat.

The girl calmly withdrew the blade in her leg and casually threw it over her shoulder like some piece of junk. "Tsk. Tsk. Proven innocent until guilty, Castiel," she spoke reprovingly. Keeping her eyes steady on the angel, she walked over to Dean and bent down, forcing his chin up and giving him a light tap on the cheeks. "I simply made him forget most of what you told him. Oh right! I forgot. You self righteous angels don't believe in manipulating the mortal mind. You're still into that free will shit."

Castiel narrowed his eyes in anger. With a flick of his wrist, a claymore of pure, orange white flames formed in his hand. He took the hilt of the great sword in both hands and took on a defensive stance.

"That's the way you want it, is it?" The girl leapt forward, and she swung her right hand in an arc above her hear in midair, causing a whip of blackish purple flames to materialize, which she brought down upon Castiel.

But the angel had been ready. He easily cast aside the whip and took a swing at his attacker as soon as she landed from her jump.

The fight began slowly at first, the two observing and taking in their respective attacker's measures. Soon enough, the tempo of the battle steady increased as Castiel and the girl took turns attacking, parrying, and counterattacking with inhuman speed and grace and power. Their movements were hypnotizing and the sound of their weapons clashing made everything vibrate dangerously, not unlike what Dean had experienced in his dream.

Sam, Dean, and Bobby were still pinned to the ground, but they could catch a glimpse of the battle every now and then. And they were simultaneously in awe and terrified of what they saw.

Silence settled in eventually. The fight had come to a standstill.

"What's wrong, Castiel? You're not as strong as you usually are." The girl grinned evilly all the while making sure to keep the claymore deadlocked. "Let me guess. You used up a good chunk of your power to shield the mortal's home?"

She snorted and let her whip crumble, the flames dissipating into ethereal vapor. The weight of the claymore caused Castiel to rock forward, and as he did, the girl thrust her left palm right where the angelic host's heart was.

Castiel grimaced in pain, his face contorting as he spat out blood and then fell limply to the ground.

The girl threw her head back and laughed maniacally in triumph. "You'll be next, Hunters," she giggled girlishly as if death was the greatest gift in the world. She stood there, towering over Castiel, about to thrust a newly formed sword of the same blackish purple flame through the angel, killing both the entity and the host, if the host wasn't dead yet.

But someone stopped her. _I_ stopped her. "_Fuego_!" I bellowed, coming out of my hiding place. I called for fire and fire answered.

She momentarily cried out in pain when one of the fireballs I'd conjured hit her square in the face. Sadly, though, the next four weren't quite as effective. She was ready for them and slashed at them, sending small shreds of flames to the ground far away from her body.

"Step away from him, Denarian" I ordered. "I won't allow you to harm him."

* * *

Hoped you enjoyed. More coming soon.

Azec Sistra


	3. The Wizard

The Wizard

Disclaimer: I don't own any parts of Supernatural or the Dresden Files. This is simply a crossover that borrows heavily from both, albeit with fan based elements.

Thanks for the reviews! So, anyways, this is an action with more mysteries than answers, but everything will be cleared up in the next chapter, which is going to be posted late this week, Saturday or Sunday.

* * *

Usually, when I give an order, it has some kind of effect. Though, I wasn't quite expecting this one.

The Denarian walked up to Castiel, kicked him onto his back, and stomped on his chest with her right foot. She leaned forward and asked with a vengeful fury in her voice, "What business does a wizard child of the White Council have attacking me?"

I began to walk towards her, gathering my will and power. "For the benefit of the show, Denarian, I'll repeat myself. Step. Away. From. Him."

The girl narrowed her eyes. "You think you can simply attack me, ignore my question, and order me around and expect no repercussions? Were I you, I would choose my words and battles more wisely. I have dealt with your kind before."

"And so have I, Denarian. And if _I_ were _you_, I would keep in mind what happened to Nicodemus Archleone and Polonius Lartessa, the eldest and most powerful of your kind, when they pissed off my father," I said coldly, keeping my eyes flat even as I felt satisfaction when she shifted herself slightly backwards in hesitation. I intimidated her further, saying, "You're nowhere on par with Tessa, much less Nicodemus. Else you wouldn't have had to resort to such underhanded tactics to kill the Angel Castiel. I might not be able to kill you that easily, but I'm more than enough to handle you."

I passed the trio still on the ground. "_Disperdora_," I murmured, sending out some of the energies I'd gathered to dispel those that the girl had been using to bind them. "Get back. I won't be able to protect you guys," I warned.

And they'd done like I said. Sam and Bobby helped Dean onto his feet and retreated well into the premises of Bobby house, though I could still feel their eyes on me. They were peering out from the now doorless front entrance and an adjacent window.

"Kid, behind you!" one of them shouted.

A group of the Denarian's minions, low class demons by the feel of it, had leapt from a nearby tree, trying to catch me by surprise. Heh, just because I couldn't spare and iota of attention or power to protect the Winchesters and Bobby, it didn't mean that they could protect me. And their warning had given me enough time to keep things covered.

Without even turning back, I thrust my hand back, index, pinky, and thumb outstretched. And after a quick round of major flash and bang, all that was left of the demons was a pile of ashes that rained down all around me.

The Denarian's eyes went flat for a moment. "Those worthless, filthy maggots." And again she readied herself for battle. Only this time, she not only called up a flaming whip and shield, she'd covered her whole entire body in black, supple quasi flesh that'd taken on the form of something that looked like a cross between a scorpion and a spider, having a deadly looking tail and…uh…four additional arms. The only features that were recognizable were those creepy fluorescent green eyes and sigil.

I can assure you, I didn't just stand there doing nothing. I readied myself too. Just in a more subtle way. I took up a vaguely defensive stance, left arm in front of me and right arm by my side. My hands were open, and I held three vaguely translucent orbs in each palm. They were spells, evocations, the quick and dirty magic that my kind uses in battle, that'd I'd prepared.

She made the first move. Two of her extra arms threw forth lances of flame, one of which I countered with fire of my own. The two flaming bodies met in midair and evaporated, leaving behind the distinctive smell of sulfur.

"_Crap_," I thought to myself. The crazy bitch was using flame conjured with Hellfire, which I should've really expected since she was a Denarian, a servant of Hell, and if any of that stuff even touched me, let's just says I'd need more than the world's supply of water to put it out.

I barely reflected the other lance of flame she cast out. "_Ventas refletum_," I chanted. I took a reverse baseball swing at it, and the flaming ball bounced right back at her. The Denarian hadn't expected that and got scorched badly.

Next, she tried a more physical approach, jumping to take a double take at me with her tail and her whip. The whip I casually swatted aside with a light tap of silver light. The tail, however, was more of a problem. It had moved too fast for me to completely avoid, and as a result, it grazed my left cheek. But it had gotten close enough that I could slice the end of it off with a carefully conjured and applied wedge of condensed air.

The Denarian shrieked in pain, and in the moment her concentration wavered, I recovered and gathered a whale of a lot more power. Think of it as sort of like taking a big gulp of air. Only I took in magic that was saturated in the environment rather than oxygen.

"_Forzare_." My right hand shot up, fingers spread out.

The girl had regained her composure by that time and braced herself, raising her shield to protect herself this time. Ah. But I didn't forget about her shield. So rather than some intangible form of energy on the magical spectrum, I called up a very tangible form of energy. Kinetic energy to be precise.

Magic may be magic, but it still obeys the laws of physics. Wizards can reshape the molecular structure of matter, but there have to molecules to reshape. We can conjure fire, but the energy can't just be created. It has to come from somewhere, whether converted from our own personal reserves of magical energy or from the thermal energy present within the ambient environment. So when force meets matter, there better be some kind of response.

And I knew the result of my force spell. The bolt of kinetic energy I threw out met with the flaming shield, but because the shield hadn't been made to block that kind of attack, the Denarian was hurled back through the air a good distance away from me.

We exchanged blows for the better part of an hour. I faired well at first, getting a few hits in now and then, but sadly nothing really stuck to her. Anything that got past her manual defenses the flesh armor she conjured took care of.

The table was slowly being turned on me as things progressed. I'm a human being made of flesh and bone, and I was getting tired from slinging spells left and right, from all the bobbing and weaving and dodging. And it really didn't help that I had to split my attention between the Denarian and Castiel.

Apparently, just for the fun of it more than for the benefit of doing so, she threw traditional lances of flame at Castiel every now and then. Seeing as to how I'd been the one to instigate this fight to protect the angel, it wouldn't have made much sense for me to stand by and do nothing. But with him semiconscious at best, I couldn't just slice the flames with wedges of air and risk him getting struck by the backlash. And countering with fire of my own was out the question because the flaming jets were moving too quickly. So I resorted to another tactic.

I clenched my left fist and brought it in front of me. The shield bracelet my father had made for me hung loosely on my forearm, a series of round bronze, copper, and silver charms inscribed with various runes strung together on a leather cord. It was a focus through which I could reshape my magic into a barrier that would protect me from almost anything provided I knew what to defend against.

I flicked my wrist. A shining, translucent dome of bluish white light formed around me as I focused my will, my anger, frustration, and fear, into a physical manifestation that would protect me from her main weapons, fire and physical force.

Knowing I was adequately protected from the Denarian, I closed my eyes and pictured the spot in between my brows. And when I opened my eyes again, I pictured a rip in that spot, opening my Wizard's Sight as well.

The Third Sight is simultaneously a blessing and a curse, a gift and an unmaking. It allows practitioners of the Art to see things in perfect, unbiased clarity, to pierce through the most powerful and complex workings of magic and even the limits imposed by physicality, to see what lies underneath. Spells and other supernatural phenomena can manifest as a swirling mesh of colors or a making of threads carefully weaved together into a complicated pattern. Beings seen through it appear as metaphysical representations of their True Selves.

But along with all the goodness, the Sight also allows us to see all the evil and ugliness in the world as well. And considering anything seen through it stays with you permanently, no matter how much time has passed or how much you will yourself to forget, that can drive one to insanity.

If it weren't for Castiel's sake, I wouldn't have risked opening the Sight.

"There. There it is," I whispered almost inaudibly. I could see the makings of the flames the girl had conjured, a tempest of bloodthirsty hate and fury anchored by tiny, tiny threads onto a seed of crimson Hellfire at its core.

I frowned in concentration. Murmuring a string of quasi Latin gibberish, I slashed at the air. And then I felt it. I felt the fire die out harmlessly as I "cut" the flames loose from their power source, which dissipated violently into the environment, causing a noticeable wither in the surrounding plant life.

* * *

"Holy shit!" Dean came to. His throat still burned, the skin bright red where the Denarian had him in a chokehold.

I swear Bobby's eyes had widened to the size of tennis balls, filled with terror as he said, "Damn right…damn right…damn."

Sam was the only one who didn't react. Not normally anyways. Even though it was early in the morning, and the full bloom of the day's heat hadn't settled in yet, it had gotten to be pretty warm. Yet, Sam was shivering and hyperventilating.

"Argh!" he choked, rolling over on his side and curling up into a pained fetal position.

Both Dean and Bobby ran over to check up on the younger Winchester, and both flinched away when Sam looked up at them. His eyes were glazed over yellow, intelligent and cunning but twisted and haunting in the most evil sense, like the Demon Azazel's. No, it was more accurate to say that they were Azazel's eyes. Sam was also bleeding out from them, as well as from his nose and ears. And something was causing him pain so intense that he was now screaming through clenched teeth.

"What the hell?" Bobby had grabbed a sawed-off shotgun filled with rock salt and was pointing it at Sam.

"Bobby. Bobby!" Dean grabbed Bobby's by the shoulders. "Look at me. Look at me!" he ordered, adding a slight but assertive shake, demanding Bobby's full attention, though the older Hunter still held the gun steady and his regard fixed on Sam. "Stay here and…I don't know. Trap Sammy or something." With that he grabbed a shotgun for himself and headed out like I'd specifically told him _not_ to, and for that, I would be very grateful.

The Denarian and I, we were still at it, "dancing" around the open field, neither of us defeated nor willing to concede with me slightly more on the losing end than she was as much as I hate to admit it.

And bang! A shot rang out, sounding like a miniature crack of thunder. And Dean stood there, gun in hand, the barrel still smoking from the shot he'd aimed at the Denarian's back.

The shot he'd taken hadn't done much. I mean…rock salt? Are you kidding me? Great for demons maybe. Just not so great on Denarians. _But_ it had drawn her attention away from me. The girl turned her head a complete one eighty degrees to meet Dean's stare, murderous intent radiating from every body part.

"_Vente_! _Ventas_! _VENTAS FULMINO_! Take this, freakin' bitch! Never give a wizard a moment to concentrate!" My voice resounded, amplified by the vast emptiness of the open field on which we stood.

I jabbed my index and middle in the Denarian's direction. And then there was a real crack of thunder and a shower of blue sparks as a slithering rope of crazed, homemade lightning materialized. Guided by righteous fury, the lightning made its way to the girl before she could even blink an eye.

And in a very satisfying sight, the Denarian's body became violently spastic, her back arched back, teeth clenched and showing as she tried to scream through an excruciating shitload of pain but couldn't. I'd taken every ounce of magic I could gather, compressed it and enveloped it in my will, and poured it into that one spell to dangerous results, and I'd be damned if that didn't do lasting damage.

What I haven't though of, of course, was the backlash. The force I'd thrown into the spell was also the force that lifted me off my feet and threw me back like a rag doll straight into Castiel who, as a manner of seeing it, was thankfully knocked out cold, unable to feel the pain of me ramming into him.

As that happened, the lightning cut off from me also sending our crazed femme fatale flying…straight towards the house, causing Dean to hit ground and take cover as she went pass him. And something unexpected happened. Before her still convulsing form even got within touching distance of the house, she was riddled with pure white, thread-like bullets of light. And just like that, she was gone. Disintegrated. Poof. No more Denarian. All that _did_ remain of her was s small, tarnished silver coin that lay on the ground.

I slowly got up, rubbing my head, the psychic backlash of the attack settling into a migraine that was threatening to split my head open. But I had no time for that.

Dean ran up to me. "You okay, kid?" he asked, eyes looking at me in shock. Though, I did notice that he still held the gun in firing position, another round of rock salt ready if I attempted anything.

"Yeah. Just help me get him in the house," I mumbled.

Dean hoisted the unconscious angel into a fireman's carry, and we both hurried towards the house. We were "greeted" by Bobby, who looked scared and slightly out of breath, probably from heaving a struggling Sam under the Devil's Trap painted on the ceiling of his study room. "Get in!"

But while Dean headed straight into the house, I stopped short of the doorway and stood right where the Denarian's corpse should have been. I stooped down and looked for the coin. Spotting it, I took out a white handkerchief, picked it up, and wrapped it carefully, making sure not to allow it to touch any exposed skin.

I turned back briefly, making sure there was no one following me. I entered the house and was met with two gun barrels close enough to my face that my eyes had to cross to clearly see them.

"Who are you?" Dean asked.

"Billy Dresden," I said.

"Okay, what are you?" Dean was ready to fire.

Typical. You combat a Denarian, a mighty warrior of Hell, only to be held at gunpoint by one of the people you just tried to save. I grimaced and cursed quietly under my breath. "A wizard," I answered, taking in a deep breath and pursing my lips.

"A warlock?" Bobby demanded, surprised at the thought that evil would square off against evil.

My eyes went flat momentarily. I didn't like or appreciate being called that since it's not what I am. "No," I said firmly. "A wizard. I repeat. A w-i-z-a-r-d."

"You are a male witch, aren't you?" Bobby questioned. But before I could even answer that, he continued. "A warlock? A sorcerer?" Sounded more like statements than anything if you asked me.

I cocked an eyebrow. Annoyance and anger flickered in my eyes. "I'll say this once only so get it through your thick skull," I retorted coldly. "Those you call witches and warlocks, they pale in comparison to true magic users. Real warlocks. Real sorcerers. They are the filth of the wizarding world. Corrupted and power hungry souls who twist the vital forces of life itself into something barely recognizable. Beings who delve into the Black Arts out of malice and greed rather than necessity. I am a wizard. And I just saved your lives."

Enough said. They both warily lowered their weapons, but I wouldn't be able to tell you if it was more because they'd been convinced by what I'd said or more out of fear of what I could do.

I just turned around, faced the doorway, and stomped a foot on the ground. "_Terra vitalis_," I whispered, eyes closed in intense concentration. Earth magic wasn't really my specialty. Not to mention, it was the hardest of the elemental energies to control. It was even harder to control outside of battle and for passive purposes. "_Cerrarum_," I spoke, releasing my will.

Something like crumbling sounds could be heard. The uncovered earth just outside the doorway was moving. The dust and dirt moved roughly and shaped themselves into the extremely irregular and ugly form of a door. "Uh…" I was speechless. I had very fine control over my magic, but this was…Let's just say I had expected something more elegant.

I knelt down on the floor and drew out five candles of five different colors, representing five different aspects of magic, laying them out in a circle. I laid a hand over them and breathed, "_Flickum biccus_." The wick of each candle lit up with gentle flames. But I wasn't done just yet. I used the index of my right hand to trace out a pentacle in the empty space before me, starting at the bottom left hand corner of the star, as it is meant to be drawn in the manipulation of defensive energies. I mumbled some more quasi Latin phrases.

"There we go." I got up and turned around to see Dean and Bobby staring with the latter mouthing, "Whoa."

And just when things were going so well, I noticed something in the television screen in Bobby's living room. A squiggle of waves a short distance to my right. And to my horror, I had a vague memory flash, remembering that Bobby hadn't specifically told me and Dean to come inside the house. He had extended a general offer of entrance into his house, meaning that whatever supernatural creepy was trying to hide itself could pass safely through the defenses Castiel had raised, as well as through the home's threshold.

I whipped around, power ready, and snarled, "Who's there?"

"Intuitive like your father, little one," someone said while laughing sweetly.

The temperature in the room dropped, and it became cold enough that I could see my breath. And then I felt something like a curtain or veil being lifted. Immediately, a freaking blizzard picked up, covering the whole place in a layer of frost.

I was forced to take a step back and raise a hand to cover myself. I didn't even bother to raise a shield. I knew this power. And I knew that it would easily pierce through whatever defense I could create.

Once the cold blast settled down into a lingering cool breeze, I looked at up, and I could see both Dean and Bobby on their knees, cowering in simultaneous fear and joy like few humans have known, a few tears of blood welled up in their eyes.

And then a familiar voice spoke. It was sweet and melodious but cruel and merciless. "And bow you should, mortals. Bow before Mab. Bow before the Queen of Air and Darkness. Ruler of the Unseelie Court of the Fae. Monarch of the Winter Court of the Sidhe."

* * *

Hoped you enjoyed. More coming soon.

Azec Sistra


	4. The Queen and The Watchman

The Queen and The Watchman

Disclaimer: I don't own any parts of Supernatural or the Dresden Files. This is simply a crossover that borrows heavily from both, albeit with fan based elements.

Sorry, I had to study for midterms. So, here is the third chapter. I hope you enjoy this one. I wanted to clarify that Billy is an OC that I introduced because I needed Harry to fill another role, and I thought the idea of Harry being a dad was very interesting. Reviews and any other questions you want answered greatly appreciated.

* * *

My godgrandmother Lea, more formally known as the Leanansidhe, stood there idly staring at Dean and Bobby through those inhuman eyes of hers, eyes of darkened gold that were canted and vertically slitted like a cat's.

Lea was one of the High Sidhe. She was a creature of perfection, and as such, her beauty went without saying. Her skin was light and flawless and melted into luscious curves that were outlined and emphasized by the medieval gown of wintergreen she wore and, believe it or not, her bare feet. Her hair was half bound into a braid that left a number of styled ringlets of fiery red curls hanging here and there.

But she was not to be taken lightly.

The High Sidhe were dealmaking creatures of an even higher order than the Crossroads Demon. Unlike the latter though, they did not deal with malicious intent, granting wishes for a more or less equal return, and they couldn't lie, but they _were_ masters of twisting words in order to convey falsehood without actually lying, almost always guaranteeing that whoever dealed with them got the short end of the bargain or otherwise somehow got further involved with them.

And my godgrandmother was one of the oldest and most powerful creatures of the Winter Court. Her methods were so effective, actually, that Mab had refused to kill her when she unintentionally became possessed by a shade and tried to overthrow Mab a number of years back.

And then there was Mab.

Whereas Lea had been a creature _of_ perfection, Mab _was_ perfection itself. Her hair was of the purest white, not extremely pale blonde but white like snow, long and silken and held by a crown of what appeared to be crystallized snowflakes. This contrasted sharply against a fitted, sleeveless gown of rich, royal blue that left her shoulders and feet showing, her eyes, which were an emerald green so deep that you could literally sink into them, and sensual lips the color of frozen berries.

Oh dear Lord. Goodness gracious. Her figure was distracting as hell, and I was a wizard, trained in part to resist the glamours of the Sidhe. But I didn't let myself forget who she was and what she was capable of.

You've seen some of what I can do. And among wizards, my gifts are considerable and still developing, placing me among the strongest in the world, on par with my father. But in comparison to Mab? I was no more than a midget standing at the base of Mount Everest. A whole entire army of fledgling Denarians could've thrown themselves at her for all I cared, and they've wouldn't stand a chance, spitballs to a nuclear warhead.

She was Queen of the Winter Sidhe and ruler of fully half the realm of Fairie, whose lands made up most the Nevernever, the spirit world. And with that came power, power that was universally respected and feared. Power that had existed since the dawn of time and would continue to exist until time's end, rivaling those of the archangels and ancient gods.

I took a half step back and bowed slightly. "Greetings, Queen Mab," I said. I think my voice was shaking a little, and not merely from the cold that she'd brought in with her. "Godgrandmother." I turned to face Lea and inclined my head a notch, trying to convey the proper degree of respect.

"Why the formality, wizard child? It is I who am yet in your debt for the rescue of my person four years ago. Three favors I owed you. Two yet still remain," the Fairie Queen genuinely laughed, her voice clear as ringing church bells, that is, if you shoved them into my ears and rammed them against my teeth. "Besides, you have neither summoned nor requested an audience with me or the Leanansidhe. Therefore, you do not represent the White Council as a whole in our presence today."

"Nonetheless," I replied. "I'm still a child speaking the presence of his elders. May I ask why you have come?"

Mab regarded Lea and lightly nodded.

"Because, my grandchild, Milady Queen Mab had hoped to repay some of what she owes you. And as for me, you know it is my duty, both by blood and by oath, to look after you, to teach and guide you and ensure your safe being," my godgrandmother spoke.

"Wait. Hold on a sec," I cut off my godgrandmother. "Last I heard, the Sidhe Courts had a truce with the Denarians. You and Queen Titania agreed not to take hostile action…"

My voice trailed off in thought. And it dawned on me. The Queens of Winter and Summer _themselves_ had agreed not to take hostile action against the Denarians. Not that they could anyways. As a rule, the Sidhe Queens couldn't personally gun down anyone not affiliated to the Courts in some manner. But no where had they specified that they or the members of their Courts wouldn't act against the Denarians to protect someone else. See? Word games.

Lea chuckled lightly. "And so it is. Like I said, intuitive much like your father," she said, knowing me and the person who'd raised me well enough to guess that I'd worked out the general details of things.

"But you are not the only reason why we are here," she continued. She looked pass me to the unconscious form of Castiel. "The Queen had hoped to extend a helping hand to the heavenly host as well. To heal him and offer knowledge in his quest against she who seduces men and destroys children."

"Why?" I asked.

The Winter Queen stepped towards me. She leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Because, wizard, promises must be kept, bargains upheld, and debts repaid. I am Mab. I am the Queen of Air and Darkness. I am ally to the Watchman, and I shall honor that alliance. He and I share a common enemy, an enemy that shall be rendered asunder."

Her voice was calm, equal parts sweet and melodious. But it was also cold and calculating, filled with terrible anger and hatred that shook both air and earth alike, causing me to step away from her.

Lea stepped aside and bowed slightly as Mab turned her back to me and headed towards the front door. And just like that, they were both gone, leaving behind only a lingering scent of glacial mint and an echo of Mab's voice, a whisper saying, "Be wary. What proves to be an aid might also prove not to be."

* * *

Dean and Boby were still kneeling on the floor a few feet away from me.

They were cowering and crying tears of blood and water from the beautiful but cruel sight of the Sidhe women that stood before them and shaking from the cold that persisted. They were conscious but their thoughts were elsewhere. So much so that they hadn't even noticed me at all.

"Um…hello?" I asked for the tenth time in half and hour, waving my hand in front of Dean wildly and knocking his forehead a couple of times, trying to snap him back from his own personal lala land to no avail. "Anybody in there?" I gave an exasperated sigh and rolled my eyes as they landed on Bobby. I hadn't had much luck with him either.

The glamours of the Sidhe affected people differently. Some were seduced into abject worship while others were inspired for a lifetime. And some had their brains turned into jelly apparently.

"The workings of the Sidhe I'm assuming," Castiel said. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "The Cold Queen and her vassal by the smell of it."

He'd caught me by surprise. I flinched and tumbled backwards in response and gave off a little yelp as I raised my left arm, the shield bracelet giving off light blue sparks as it focused my will and power in a translucent half dome around me.

I looked up at him. His lips were pale and covered in his host's blood, but otherwise, he seemed in good shape. The color had returned to his face, and he was breathing normally. And I noticed that Mab even had the decency to act as tailor, cleaning the dirt off his clothes and mending the bullet holes in his trench coat.

I scowled and said, "Don't do that."

"You don't have to be afraid. There's hardly anyone who could've broken through both your defenses and mine without alerting you," the angel spoke.

I breathed and lowered the shield. "Mab did, didn't she?" I got up and said in a as-a-matter-of-fact tone.

"But as you said, she is Mab." Castiel said that as if he was speaking to a rather dim-witted child.

"Uh…there's no response to that, is there?" I looked away annoyed and muttered something under my breath.

Then, noticing that Castiel's gaze had become intently fixed on the two men kneeling on the floor as he took a couple of steps forward, I took my cue to step back, leaving the angel facing Dean and Bobby. He extended his right hand out, fingers spread a few centimeters above their heads.

"Lord Almighty, Lord of Mercy," Castiel whispered almost silently in a most reverent tone. "Please grant me a miracle that will lift the cloud upon these mortals' minds."

As cheesy as that sounded, it worked.

Even without extending my senses, I could sense the air around him strum with quiet power. It was nothing like the magic I used. It was something far more ancient and powerful, gentler yet more potent at the same time. This was the power of faith, which only the angels, saints, and a chosen few others could use.

And I felt something like a rubber band snapping, and immediately heard heavy breathing and audible gulps from Dean and Bobby as their brains where brought up to speed.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked slowly, his heart still racing, trying to contain a wellspring of emotion, fear, confusion, resentment, and joy.

I crouched and stared at him blinking at me. "A Fairie Queen."

"That thing was a fairy?" Dean snorted angrily. "A fairy fairy? Are you fuckin' kiddin' me!"

My world froze. My stomach did a neat little rollover, and I'm sure my jaw dropped onto the floor as well. "Did you just fall from a crazy tree and hit every branch along the way?! Are you insane?!" I demanded, but I made him bite back his words, sharply cutting him off with my continued rambling. "Never call Mab a thing! Never call Mab a fairy! Never call any of the High Sidhe fairies for cryin' out loud!"

"You just said that she's a fairy queen!" Dean retorted.

"Fairie is a place you moron!" I shouted back. "Where the freak do you Hunters learn your basics?! Out of textbooks from Barnes & Nobles?!" I asked honestly. And considering the circumstances, it was a valid question.

I could have taken jabs at his Hunting skills and knowledge for days, but Castiel and Bobby both saw it fit to interject and intercede, grunting loudly, causing both Dean and me to jerk our heads at either one of them.

"I see you've met our young friend here," the angel said, regarding my general direction. "And what might I call you?" he asked me.

"Oh, right. Sorry for the late introduction, Angel Castiel. I am the Wizard Dresden," I rubbed my right palm against my shirt, trying to wipe off dirt and dust to no avail, and extended my hand forward. "But you can call me Billy."

He returned the gesture, though not entirely out of goodwill. It was more like a litmus test. His hand felt warm to the touch, sending a numbing tingling sensation of pins and needles up my arm and straight down my spine to which I visibly shivered.

"A wizard," Castiel said. It was more a confirmation than anything, and it was insulting to boot. I'd just saved his life. But no, of course that wasn't enough to prove that I was one of the good guys. "You know who and what I am then."

I pulled my hand away and shook it lightly to get some feeling into it again. "Obviously," I said. "Of course I know what you are. Can't say much about who you are however. I know a little _of_ you from what the Watchman told me."

Both Castiel and Bobby went stiff. They knew. They understood the significance of this. I couldn't have said the same for Dean on the other hand.

By that time, Dean had moved himself to the living room couch and sat on one of the arms comfortably, his leg up on the pillow seat and his chin resting on his knuckles. "That's the second time I've heard about this Watchman. Didn't that thi…uh…didn't Mab also mention him or something? Who is he?" he asked casually.

I eyed him, my sight strolling up and down the length of his body, wondering if he was seriously asking this. "You've met him, I think," I thought aloud, looking to Castiel for a definite answer.

There was an intense silence for a couple of minutes, but the angel finally confirmed that the Winchesters had met him "in some measure at least."

And I looked to Dean, but he had no idea who the Watchman was. He arched his brows and shrugged his shoulders.

"Dean, is that true? You've met the Archangel Uriel?" Bobby asked in disbelief. Perhaps he didn't know who Mab was, but I could tell that Bobby knew about Uriel. And he was wise enough to be afraid and show some respect.

"This Watchman is Uriel?" Dean replied with bitting wit and irony in his voice. "That sick son of a…"

"Dean!" Bobby screamed angrily, walking over to him and gripping his shirt collar, lifting Dean to his feet and then a bit above ground. "Don't you dare finish that sentence," he said, fear evident in his eyes as he harshly let the man go and shoved him onto the couch.

And if you thought Bobby's reaction had been extreme…

"Stupid ape," Castiel said dangerously, his host's voice and his true voice melding together. His rage lashed out in all directions, causing lightbulbs and window glass, among other things, to shatter. "You stupid ape. You know nothing. The Uriel you saw was not the Watchman. It was merely a shadow or an echo of him. An avatar capable of its own will and volition. And it alone had enough power to smite a whole town. If you knew of the real Watchman, you wouldn't so much as speak his name."

* * *

So, I've started working on the next chapter. Hopefully, I've laid enough ground work to start answering questions in more detail without causing too much confusion. And I'll try to reach a balance between incorporating stuff from the Supernatural-verse and The Dresden Files series.

Azec Sistra


	5. The Demon Sam

The Demon Sam

Disclaimer: I don't own any parts of Supernatural or the Dresden Files. This is simply a crossover that borrows heavily from both, albeit with fan based elements.

Sorry for the delay. I'm studying for finals so the next chapter won't be up for at least two more weeks. Anyways, I admit that the last chapter wasn't too exciting. Hopefully this one will be. As usual, any additional questions you would like answered and reviews are welcomed and appreciated.

* * *

Six months ago

"Ruby," Sam whispered apprehensively, one arm shaking Ruby's unconscious form and the other holding her knife. "Ruby, wake up."

The demon briefly came to, hovering on the edge of consciousness. Her eyes had turned completely black and were unfocused as she rolled her head from side to side, looking for the person or thing that had attacked her.

"Sam," she said weakly, taking hold of his arm. "You have to get out of here."

Sam mirrored Ruby, sweeping his eyes across the room, and then said firmly, though with a hint of fear in his voice, "No. I'm not leaving you. I got you into this mess in the first place."

And he truly was.

Two days ago, the younger Winchester's psychic powers had allowed him to pick up on a sort of supernatural pulse or energy signature. While it hadn't been a demonic aura, it was certainly powerful and dangerous. And Sam was a Hunter, demonic powers or not, prompting him to investigate the source of this power against Ruby's oftentimes better judgment. Although it felt more like he'd been manipulated into doing just that from where was standing right now.

Sam helped Ruby up and held her close to him, literally being the only thing keeping her from meeting the stone cold floor again.

After taking a few steps forward, Sam suddenly whipped his head to his right and then to his left. All around them, from all directions, he could hear indistinct murmurs and giggling. It looked like he wouldn't have to through the trouble of finding whoever or whatever it was that was after them.

The voice became clearer as it closed in on the pair, and then, without preparation, not even a moment's thought, Sam swung Ruby's knife in a half circle a few degrees above eye level only to find out a few seconds later that there was nothing there. Only open space.

"You certainly get worked up easily," a feminine voice whispered into his ear from behind. "You're still a child."

The words came out strange. Rather than hear them, Sam _felt_ them. He felt the strings of syllables wrap themselves around him as the will and power contained within each word seeped into his skin and into his being, leaving him paralyzed.

Sam's body began to go numb, and his strength left him. He didn't even realize it when his fingers began to unclench and his arm came loose seemingly of their own volition, letting both knife and woman drop to the floor with echoing thuds.

A trickle of sweat ran the length of his face. His breathing became heavy. And with clenched teeth and a strained expression, Sam struggled furiously to move, refusing to let his fear dominate him. But nothing. He couldn't even get his pinky to twitch.

"Soothe, Samuel Winchester," the voice said. "I have not come here to kill you."

"Who are you?" Sam snarled, though it would have sounded a hell of a lot more intimidating if it hadn't been for the fact that he was the one who was completely incapacitated.

Still, the voice answered, "I am Ulshavaras, an oracle spirit and ally of the _loa_, and I have come here to tell you about your future."

"My future?"

"Yes," the spirit said. "Soon you will meet one who will shape your destiny, the child of a God-blade bearer. And through this meeting, you will change. Will you choose to grasp the light or be swallowed by darkness?"

* * *

Present day

Castiel was gone. He'd left the place after a memorable display of his power. I felt bad for Bobby. I really did. The place was in shambles, still smelling horribly of tungsten, argon, and ash.

I plucked one of the straw bristles from the broom Bobby had given to me and held it in front of me. "_Pulitas_," I murmured. Then chanted more rhythmically, "_Pulitas. pulitas_." I blew on the bristle to infuse it with my will and magic.

Immediately the broom came to life. It began to dance back and forth in a crescent-shaped sweeping motion and moved wildly about, gathering glass and wood. That and more. I was pretty sure it had wiped the whole place down, picking up dust and dirt as well.

This was actually the first time I used the cleaning spell so I was glad it came it as I had meant for it to. I mean, my dad, as he put it, had been "laboriously forced" to learn the spell, and the first time he used it, he made a mess of things. And the second time he used it, it hadn't even been for household purposes. Instead, he had managed to effectively wield it as some bizarre form of offense against a tide of poisonous scorpions.

Meanwhile, the doorbell rang. And since Bobby was boiling water for coffee, tea, or whatever it was, and I was actually making myself useful, cleaning the place up, that left only Dean to fill the role of doorman.

He got up, annoyed and muttering something about angels and faeries under his breath, and grabbed himself a shotgun. Dean positioned himself, careful not to knock over any of the ward candles I set up, and, holding the gun out of sight, opened the door only to be met with an unlikely sight.

A set of baby blues were looking at him. The young woman to whom they belonged stood in front of him in relaxed poise, her back arched slightly and her thumbs holding onto the edge of her pant pockets, leaving the rest of her arms to dangle loosely.

"Hi," she said casually in a maturely sweet voice. "I'm Molly. Are you Sam or Dean Winchester?"

"Uh…I'm Dean," he answered awkwardly. Dean tapped the doorway somewhat nervously with his fingers and leaned on it to look cool and relaxed.

Only he wasn't. It was hard for him not to stare, and I couldn't blame him.

Molly wasn't one of the Sidhe, but she was an attractive woman. She had the build of a gymnast, standing almost Dean's height, and, unlike him, consisted of all smooth lines and curves that were clearly outlined by her plain but form-fitting black T-shirt and blue jeans. Her sandy blonde hair had been chopsticked into a loose bun that left a tail of hair on her shoulder.

Dean cleared his throat, quickly looked away, and tried to say something but found out that for the first time in his life, he had no idea what to say. No quirky or suave remarks. No witty replies. There was simply silence. An uncomfortable silence.

Molly swept her eyes left and right and back and forth, finally allowing them to settle on Dean again. She gave him a quick smile and then tilted her head and body slightly left, peering pass him and into the house and calling out in a loud, clear voice, "Billy, are you in there somewhere? It's Molly."

I gave off a low, annoyed growl. "About time," I muttered to myself. "Didn't think it'd take her this long to find me."

"Better later than never," a voice said in a cheerfully mocking, know-it-all kind of way from seemingly nowhere.

"Be quiet. No one asked your opinion," I said, grabbing my shoulder bag from my side and roughly shaking it to emphasize my point.

"Ow. Hey! I…"

But before another word came out, I gave my bag one final, definitive shake and quickly put it away. I mean, even in the world of the supernatural, hearing voices is not normal. And for people who didn't know better, I might as well have been raving like a lunatic. I was after all talking to my bag.

I jerked my head up and flashed a nervous smile at Bobby, who had made his way to the living room when I didn't answer Molly.

"Someone you know?" Bobby asked in between sips of coffee, causing me to roll my eyes.

I scowled. "Sadly," I sighed. "Look, just invite her in _by name_," I emphasized and then clarified, "If she is who she says she is, fine. We'll all be happy. But if she's not, my wards are gonna…"

Bobby got the idea. He took another sip of his coffee then slowly turned around and headed for the door. "Molly, right?"

I nodded.

And less than a minute later, I heard footsteps coming towards me. Not from one person. Not from two people. I heard three sets of footsteps. It really was Molly.

* * *

Meet Margaret Katherine Amanda Carpenter, aka Molly, my friend and sister that I never had. But make no mistake, she wasn't there simply to cheer me on from the sidelines. Molly was a powerful wizard in her own right and was there to act as my backup.

"Molly, you know Dean Winchester and Robert Singer," I said, gesturing at the two men. "Dean. Bobby. This is Molly Carpenter."

"Nice to meet you," Molly said as she walked up to Bobby and shook his hand. "And nice to meet you." She eyed Dean intently. His gaze had fallen back on her. But there was nothing remotely uncomfortable now that they had been properly introduced. Rather, I noticed that the act was mutual, each clearly enjoying the other's sight.

Bobby arched a brow in amusement, the corner of his mouth starting to form a wolfish grin. Both of my brows shot up as I stared. The idea of Dean being physically attracted to a girl wasn't new. But the idea of him truly liking a girl. Now that came as a surprise.

I would've been happy to let them ogle each other for hours, but things are rather complicated with wizards. A split second before anything else happened, a loud grunt on my part snapped the both of them back from their own personal lala land to the sound of scratching CDs. Molly quickly withdrew her hand, her face flushed pink partly out of embarrassment for having allowed things to get slightly out of hand, while Dean swallowed hard, simultaneously rubbing a couple of day's growth of facial hair and shooting the dirtiest look possible my way. As for Bobby, he was clearly trying to stifle a laugh.

"So? What took you so long to find me?" I asked, ignoring both men.

Molly took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes. "You know I suck at tracking spells. Plus you have Bob."

But her words weren't the only things that came to me. _Thanks._ I heard the word in my head. I almost jumped, thinking that I was under some kind of psychic assault when I realized that it was simply a mental communication spell that Molly had subtly weaved.

I grinned. _You're welcome_. I thought and willed the words towards Molly. I was about the say something else when Bobby interrupted.

"Who's Bob?" he asked.

"I'm Bob," the same voice from before said excitedly.

Both Dean and Bobby jumped. "What the hell was that?" both of them asked.

Molly gave off an exasperated sigh. "Bob, you really are cruisin' for a bruisin' aren't you?" she asked in a slightly reproachful tone.

"Hey! What would you do if your boss's kid stole you and then shoved you inside his bag without even letting you out for fresh air once in a while?!" Bob replied indignantly.

I swung my bag from my side to my front and began to rummage through the contents until I found what I was looking for, Bob or at least the thing that housed Bob. I grabbed the bleached white human skull and brought to within an inch of my face as I narrowed my eyes at it and flared through my nostrils, more annoyed than angry. "Don't you make me out to be the bad guy! You agreed to behave and help me if I bought you those new romance novels you wanted!"

The empty eye sockets of the skull suddenly became illuminated with bright, white-orange dust-like motes of light, and the pearly white teeth clicked wildly a few times before the mouth slowly moved up and down. Words were gonna come out but…

…Dean and Bobby were staring at me like someone who needed to have a strait jacket slapped on and shipped back to the looney bin for A) talking to a skull and B) being in possession of a skull to begin with.

I spent the next ten or so minutes telling them about Bob. And here's the Cliff's Notes version of what I told them. Bob was a powerful, albeit annoying, perverted, lazy, and wisecracking, spirit of air and intellect in the service of my dad, but everyone simply referred to him as Bob the skull since it was far less of a mouthful to say and because it just sounded cooler. Despite his flaws, Bob was an invaluable asset, having several centuries' worth of supernatural knowledge.

* * *

"Okay," Molly said. "Now that that's cleared up. We need to talk about what's been happening here and what were gonna do next."

The rest of us nodded quietly in agreement.

"Uh…hold on." I looked around the room. "Where's Sam?" When no one answered me, I bobbed my head a little and asked again, "Where's Sam?"

Again, no one answered me. I swear I could've heard crickets chirping it was so quiet. Dean let out a breath. He folded his arms and eyed Bobby, giving him a look that I couldn't quite read. And finally he said, "Something happened to Sammy while you were fightitng…"

"…the Denarian," I finished for him. "What happened exactly?"

"Something is happening," Molly said. She murmured too softly for any of us to make out the words clearly but loud enough that it caught our attention. "Something is happening. What's there?" she asked, lazily shifting her eyes, which had been fixated on the northwest corner of the house, to meet Dean's.

Horror and realization flashed across Bobby's face. "The study room."

"SAM!" Dean bellowed. He and Bobby ran towards the small room where Bobby had confined the younger Winchester earlier on.

Then, within the span of a few seconds, Molly's eyes became sharply focused. She ran pass me screaming, "Dean! Don't…"

I didn't hear the rest of what she said because in that instant, I became acutely aware of what Molly had sensed and found myself running after Dean and screaming for him not to enter the study room.

The both of us reached them. Just not in time.

Dean had already opened the door to the study room to find a pen flying towards him. I know what you're thinking. A pen? A freakin' pen? That's ridiculous. You're kidding, right? Well, no, I kid you not. A pen was flying at him at about ten thousand miles an hour, and if it hadn't been for his lightning fast reflexes, it would've lodged itself in his brain.

Instead, Dean brought his hand up in a quick defensive maneuver that caused the killer writing tool to run halfway through the palm of his hand. For a few seconds there, all Dean could see was red. The pain was excruciating, and it showed. His face was wildly reddening. His teeth were clench as if trying to bite down the pain, and for all his manliness, a few tears began to well up in his eyes.

But those split seconds were some of the few that Dean couldn't spend groveling in pain. Several more pens were coming his way.

Molly didn't have Dean's fighting skills or reflexes, but she certainly had her wits and will about her. She roughly took hold of the man's arm and pulled hard. But because of the disproportionality between Dean's weight and her physical strength, Molly couldn't cleanly move him. Rather, she made his body jerk slightly. His legs became tangled with hers, and both fell backwards.

On her way down, Molly muttered something in a language that I knew to be based on ancient Aramaic, the language she'd chosen years before to be her Language of Power, altering the pens' trajectory away from them.

"Get back! _Forzare!_" I shouted furiously, hurriedly getting in front of Bobby.

You see, the attack that was directed at Bobby wasn't so kind. Pens weren't being thrown at him. Razor-like shards of broken beer and wine bottles were. And not just one or several at a time. They were coming at him in volleys that would've left no more than fairly large shreds of skin if he was lucky.

The glass projectiles came to meet the wall of crimson energy I cast out and, having their kinetic energy, in addition to the kinetic energy of my spell, turned on them, broke down into a cloud of shimmering powder that, once settled, merely dirtied the place I had just cleaned up.

I stood my ground, shield bracelet at the ready, and faced the source of the attack.

His eyes were yellow still, ancient and dangerous as Dean and Bobby had previously witnessed. Blood ran down his cheeks and neck and stained his shirt, the wet parts sticking grossly to his skin, which he either didn't notice or didn't mind. Sam didn't say anything. He acted.

Sam brought up the index and middle of his left hand, and pointing them at us, me specifically, he began to sketch a complex symbol in midair.

My eyes widened. I gasped in surprise and immediately brought up the index and middle of my right hand and traced a counter symbol. "Bob! Get to Molly!"

No further questions needed. Bob understood. He climbed out of my bag and made his way to Molly. And for a skull with no legs, he moved with surprising agility, the teeth of the skull rattling madly between each small hop that consisted his odd, exaggerated gait.

By that time, Bobby had also made his way to her.

"Molly!"

"Bob!"

"You need to set up an alignment perimeter," the air spirit told her frantically.

"I'm not familiar with the formulas they're using," she replied. Her voice was dry, and she was visibly shaking not to my surprise. Molly wasn't a combat wizard and couldn't handle too well the psychic stresses of battle, but she wasn't going to let that hamper her. Not when lives and, ultimately, the fate of the world was at stake. "You're gonna have to guide me through this."

Molly looked around and found the ink of her choice. Blood. Dean's blood, which had steadily flowed into a sizeable puddle through the uneven tears in his palm. She bathed her right hand in the sticky substance and began to draw defensive sigils in a circle around Bobby, Dean, and herself.

Bobby's house was old. It had been in his family for hundreds of years and had seen generations of Singers come and go. It was not merely a house. It was a home. While you might think this totally irrelevant, it sure as hell wasn't for Molly and me. Actually, it was the key to our survival.

Homes are protected by a threshold. The older a home is and the more significant and defining the events that happened in a home, the more powerful the threshold. And the threshold around the Singer home was the most powerful one I had encountered to date, not to mention it had been further reinforced by angelic work. All but the most powerful beings would have a tough time against something like this.

We were invited in by Bobby, the current owner of the home, and thus were able to reach out and feel it. It felt something like layers upon layers of feet thick steel carbon plating. We used these defensive energies to anchor our magic, fear as our focus, and survival as our motivator.

All within the span of a few moments, and we were all set and ready to go. And so was Sam.

He sent his static curse towards me. I responded with an open resolve. Our workings clashed violently, causing waves and waves of dispersing spell energies to slowly sledgehammer the place apart as each of us continuously poured out more power. But the energies I had drawn from the threshold won out in the end, and Sam was thrown back against the wall.

I had a plan, and I hoped to God that it would work because I only had one shot at it.

I ran up to Sam before he recovered, took hold of his head, and forced him to look at me. His eyes suddenly reverted to their usual color. He gasped in shock as the soulgaze began.

* * *

Azec Sistra


End file.
